Will nodded. 'Particularly over the last few months?' he asked and Skinner's eyes widened in surprise.

'How did you know that?'

'We all feel that way at the end,' Will told him. 'You realise what a big task lies in front of you.'

'You mean… you felt that way too?' Skinner said in disbelief. Skinner found it difficult to believe that a legend like Will Treaty could ever feel self-doubt.

Will grinned easily. 'I was terrified,' he admitted. 'But trust your training. When you get your assignment, you'll find you know a lot more than you think.'

He left Skinner engulfed by a further explosion of motherly pride and moved on to Clarke, who was surrounded by a small group consisting of his parents, his brother and his mentor. After offering his congratulations, Will asked, 'Any idea where you'll be assigned yet?'

Clarke shook his head. Will could see the sudden uncertainty in his eyes as he registered the fact that he would be moving away from the protective wings of his mentor, and striking out in his own fief.

'It'll be somewhere nice and peaceful, I'm sure,' Andross, his mentor, said reassuringly. 'We don't usually throw new Rangers in at the deep end.'

'You'll be fine,' Will told him.

Clarke grinned. 'Anywhere would be peaceful without Andross's snoring,' he said.

Andross raised his eyebrows and looked sidelong at the younger man. 'Is that so? Well, just pray that you're not in the fief next to mine or you might still hear me.'

Will joined in the general chorus of laughter that went round the group. Then Clarke's younger brother, looking admiringly at his newly elevated sibling, asked, 'Will you be allowed to come home and visit for a few days before you go?'

Clarke looked to Andross, who nodded. 'New Rangers get a week's leave with their families before taking up their poste's.' As he looked around the circle of happy faces, Will felt a small twinge of regret. There had been no happy, admiring family to wish him well when he graduated, he thought. Then he shook the small moment of melancholy away. There'd been Halt, he thought. And Halt was family enough for anyone.

Crowley was shoving his way through the crowd now to put an arm around the shoulders of each of the new Apprentices.

'Why are we all standing here talking?' he cried. 'Let's eat.'

The meal was a simple one, but none the less delicious for that. A venison haunch had been turning on a spit over a bed of glowing coals for some hours, the juices and fat spluttering into the fire and raising sudden bursts of flame, filling the clearing with the succulent smell of roasting meat. Two of the Rangers now carved it expertly, placing slices of the juice-laden meat on platters with a fresh green salad tossed with a tangy vinegar and oil dressing. Mounds of fresh fruit were placed along the long table for dessert.

After the meal, the Rangers sat back as jugs of steaming hot coffee were set out. Will grinned at Gilan across the table as the tall Ranger reached for a honey pot a few spaces down the table.

'Don't take it all,' he warned. A couple of the older Rangers sitting near them shook their heads in mock condemnation.

'I see Halt's still passing on his bad habits,' said one.

Crowley announced that the entertainment was about to begin and Berrigan, a former Ranger who had lost a leg in battle and now travelled the country as a minstrel (and an undercover agent for the Corps) stepped forward with his gitarra. He sang three songs to increasingly boisterous applause, then beckoned to Will.

'Come and join me, Will Treaty!' he called. 'Let's see if you remember what I taught you.' The former Ranger had coached Will in his role as a jongleur when he had gone on his mission to Norgate Fief.

Will flushed with pleasure as he rose from his seat to a chorus of friendly catcalls. He made his way to the cleared space at the head of the table where Berrigan was performing. One of the junior apprentices had been sent to fetch Will's mandola from his tent – he rarely travelled anywhere without it – and he passed the instrument to him now. Will strummed a chord experimentally.

'I tuned it,' Berrigan told him and Will frowned as he adjusted the top string.

'So I see,' he replied, straight-faced, and a ripple of amusement went through the audience. Berrigan nodded appreciation of the gibe.

'What shall we start with?' he demanded. But Will was ready for that. It was the first trick of the trade Berrigan had taught him. A professional entertainer is always ready with a song, he had told him. Hesitation marks you as an amateur.

'Jenny on the Mountain,' he said promptly.

Berrigan smiled at him. 'I see you've remembered some things then.'

They performed together for three songs. Will had a pleasant voice and Berrigan slipped effortlessly into a harmony as the younger man sang the melody. Will had to admit that they sounded pretty good together. But after the third song, he laid the mandola down.

'You also taught me not to overstay my welcome,' he said and he took his seat to a round of appreciative applause, content to watch the master performer for the rest of the evening.

He rejoined Berrigan for the final song. It was the unofficial Ranger anthem, a haunting ballad called Cabin in the Trees, and those assembled all joined in, singing softly along to the chorus. 'Going back to the cabin in the trees

But I doubt she'll be waiting for me still.'

The gentle, simple song of lost love and country living was a marked contrast to the harsh and dangerous life that Rangers led. Maybe that's why they loved it as much as they did, Will thought. As he and Berrigan strummed the final soft chord, there was an audible sigh from the audience, then silence fell over them. Will glanced down the table and saw that the faces of his comrades, so often set in stern, harsh lines, had softened as they thought of old friends and times gone by.

'Right, everyone! Attention please!' Crowley let the moment of reflection extend for a decent interval, then brought everyone back to the present. 'Last official piece of business for this Gathering. Assignments and reassignments for the coming year.'

As Crowley took his place at the head of the table, Will resumed his seat opposite Gilan. There was a tightness in his stomach as he waited for Crowley's next words. He'd been assigned to the sleepy backwater of Seacliff Fief for long enough, he felt. Perhaps it was time for something more challenging.

'As some of you know already,' Crowley began, 'Alun has decided to retire.'

Alun was the Ranger of Whitby Fief. Now he would move to Castle Araluen, as was the custom for retired Rangers, where he would assist with administrative tasks, taking some of the paperwork burden from Crowley's shoulders.

He was a popular figure and there was a round of warm applause as he stepped forward to receive his Gold Oakleaf – symbol of a retired Ranger – from Crowley.

There was also a scroll of commendation from King Duncan, thanking Alun for his many years of loyal service to the crown.

'I'll think of you all,' Alun said, smiling around the circle of familiar faces. 'I'll think of you when I'm tucked up in a warm bed at Castle Araluen and you're all out sleeping in muddy ditches and draughty barns.'

A chorus of cheerful abuse met this sally and his smile widened. Yet Will could see a hint of wistfulness behind the smile. Alun would miss the freedom of the hills and forests and the excitement of facing the unknown with every sunrise.